


He Opened His Mouth, Birds Flew Out

by sweettea_and_lemonade



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hadestown Fusion, Anais Mitchell owns my soul now, But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, Don't be scared by the death tag, Geralt is Eurydice, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Inspired by Hadestown, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Jaskier is Orpheus, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, LOTS of song references to Hadestown because that musical SLAPS, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Songfic, it's only temporary (maybe), its not super cheesey, we'll see how this shakes out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweettea_and_lemonade/pseuds/sweettea_and_lemonade
Summary: Jaskier was a poor bard, but he had a gift to give. He could make you see how the world could be, in spite of the way that it is. Geralt was a Witcher looking for something he couldn't quite name. The former was not the biggest fan of destiny, so we'll call it fate. It was fated that the two meet in a shitty tavern in Posada. One looking for a muse, the other looking for a soft place to land. Neither knew it would spiral into this.Welcome to the Orpheus and Eurydice AU that no one asked for, but I desperately wanted to write. Just as a warning, this story is a little "Love at First Sight" -ish that goes both ways. I tried to keep it to a minimum, but I also wanted it to flow like how one would write a fairy tale/myth. The title is from 'Venus' by Anais Mitchell, just with the pronouns switched to reference Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	1. The Roads, The Wind, and The Song

**Author's Note:**

> I’m obsessed with Hadestown and I’ve only watched The Witcher on Netflix so bare with me here (though I have taken note from other fans that Geralt is a lot friendlier in the games/books and therefore I have decided to go with that version of his personality). This story will follow the original Orpheus and Eurydice story with some references to Hadestown’s lyrics (but most of the editions to the plot made by the Hadestown musical will not be added. Hades has been made to be the bad guy one too many times in pop culture. Just let the man love his wife!) Also, I will be dipping in and out of The Witcher canon at will, because that’s the fun part about fanfiction. I’ve taken a few liberties with how the afterlife works because once again, this was written for fun.
> 
> Finally, I haven’t decided whether to stay with the original sad ending, or to change it to a happier one. For the sake of suspense, I won’t decide until the end. So no, not even I know whether or not Jaskier will turn back. That’s part of the fun.

There is a road to every destination. How clean or smooth these roads are depends on whether the location needs to be found, but just know this reader, there is a road to every destination. This Continent is interwoven by the roads of man and we all know how men love meddling. They build their homes, their temples, their kingdoms and tie them together with marked paths smoothed down for comfort. All this talk of roads and paths may bore you, but trust me when I say that it is important. For you see -if there is a road to every destination- then there is also a road to the Underworld. 

What the afterlife is like varies to the opinion of each person. Those who live in Nilfgraad may see it as a sunny place where brave warriors go to rest. Or perhaps a citizen of Zerrikania would see the afterlife as a heavenly place where further knowledge of magic can be found from the ancient ghosts of dragons. Some may not believe in one at all. All of these rumors are the result of the fact that God of the Dead keeps to himself (unlike some other Gods we will get to). He’s a busy man after all. After a long day at the office, you too would just want to curl up with your wife and dog by the fireplace. Nevertheless, the God of the Dead doesn’t make a presence in the Overworld very often, and so what lies after death is shrouded in mystery: and man doesn’t like mystery. Instead they fill up the gaps with their own tales.

You, dear reader, won’t have to tolerate the mystery. No, I can assure you now that the Underworld is simply another kingdom. King Hades, God of the Dead, rules next to his wife Queen Persephone, Goddess of Springtime. Together they organize the dead and send them where they need to go. That is all. They do not “do the death” as you kids say. They don’t even truly interact with the dead. If you did have any questions, Hades would be available for a meeting in three to five business days (or if Persephone is gone for the summer, one to two business days.) Together, the Underworld runs efficiently, and those who are worthy get their piece of paradise. It’s easy to see why mortals would spice up the afterlife with their own stories. Afterall, a happily married couple with a dog running things without any stress isn’t as interesting as dragons. Mortals are always more interesting than what they give themselves credit for. 

Now readers, if you will entertain me, I would like to tell you the story of two of my favorite mortals. There have been many lives that have come and gone, but these two have managed to make themselves stand out; and if you allow me to explain you will understand why. It’s an old story, a tale of love from many many years ago.

The first mortal is a man by the name of Julian Alfred Pankratz (or more commonly known as Jaskier). The son of Apollo the God of; Music, Art, Poetry, Plagues, Oracles, Healing, Teenage Narcissism, and swinging both ways; and, the muse of eloquence and the wisest of all the muses, Calliope. From a young age he held a lute in his hands with the certainty of men many years above him. Left to grow up amongst common mortals, and never knowing of the ichor in his veins, Jaskier became known for his skills as a bard. Once of age, he left his home in Kerack in search of the inspiration for his first big project. Thirty years later, he still hadn’t found it. Instead he composes small melodies to earn enough coin to move from place to place. Still, pieces of a song hang just within reach. Just at the tip of his tongue. 

The second mortal is a man by the name of Geralt. Born human, forged into a Witcher, the man had a life full of pain and loneliness. People stared at him wherever he went, but that was just the life of a Witcher. Slayers of monsters, saviors of man, and thanked by no one. He spends his days traveling from village to village. He takes up a contract, kills the monster, collects his coin, and leaves. His life is in a constant cycle and he does it alone.

And now with our polite introductions finally out of the way, we can begin our tale of Jaskier and Geralt.

\---

One day, at the very tailend of a particularly awful winter, Geralt stepped into a Posada tavern: exhausted. The chill of the winter wind swirling behind him as the door remained open before he closed it and moved to find a nice dark corner to sulk in. He gets himself a cup of ale and keeps his eyes low and hidden behind long silver hair, staring at the wooden table. He smelled of blood. Blood from a recent hunt, but part of his mind wondered if the blood from Blaviken still lingered on his skin and heavy armor. 

_ Butcher.  _

He curls his fingers tighter around his cup. People are like the wind he supposes, turning on you when the dark clouds roll in. Geralt steeled himself. He was a Witcher, and it was a lonely path for creatures like him. He wondered why part of him always tried to fight it. Renfri had been his latest attempt, and look at how that ended. More blood on his hands with the copper taste still sitting on his tongue. He was better off alone. He knew how to stand by his own side. How to be his own support. 

Still, a part of him wanted to rest. To fall into the comfort of someone who would stay by his side. 

Jaskier stumbled into the tavern, lute in hand. Bright cornflower eyes full of apparent naivety. His youthful aura attracts a few unsavory souls to circle him. He knows they’re looking to rob him but ignores them as he begins to find a tune. As he sang, unseen magic filled the air. Geralt’s medallion hums, but not enough for him to pull a sword. Nimble calloused fingers run across his strings as he reaches a full melody and people begin to circle him more. A few coins got tossed his way as he played, but the spell breaks as a man attempts to steal the coin bag tied to his waist. Jaskier turns, and the moment he does the song dies, so does the support from the crowd. They boo him and throw food at him until he’s forced to grab what coin he has earned and run off to the other side of the tavern.

It is here that Jaskier sees Geralt for the first time, and he yearns to talk to him. 

_ “Don’t come on too strong”, his common sense warns him. His heart doesn’t listen.  _

“How was my performance? C’mon. Don’t be shy. I can handle critiques,” his body moves on his own as he plops himself on the other side of Geralt’s table. He smiles brightly, as if he hadn’t almost gotten robbed. 

“Who are you?” Geralt asks gruffly, not appreciating the fact his sulking time had been interrupted. 

“Your new bard. I’m Jaskier” he replied. 

_ “Is he always like this?” Geralt intends to ask only himself. The question stumbles from his mouth anyway. _

“Are you always like this?” Geralt replies shortly. 

“Yes,” Jaskier answers with a grin.

“I’m Geralt,” he offers, hoping that would be enough to wave the bard off. It’s not. Jaskier pushes for more. 

“Geralt. A strong name for a strong man. Now, do tell me, what did you think of my performance?” he prompts again.

“The creatures you spoke of aren’t real,” Geralt grunts out. 

“How do you kn- oh,” Jaskier suddenly takes notice of the medallion hanging from Geralt’s neck and the large swords strapped to his back. He shifts in his seat and smiles wider, “A little stretch of the imagination never hurts, afterall, it makes for a lovely song,” Jaskier said, a bit defensive.

“So you’re a liar and a player too,” Geralt motions to the lute sitting on the table, “I’ve met too many men like you. I don’t need a bard trailing behind me.” 

Jaskier’s eyes go wide, “Wait! No, I’m not like that. I’m not like any man you’ve met.”

“How so?” Geralt asks, narrowing his eyes back at the bard. 

“I-I legitimately respect the work that you do. That Witchers do. Your piss poor treatment is undeserved. I can sway a crowd like no other and get you more coin. I want to help you, and all I ask in return is that you allow me to travel with you. I want to get inspiration for a song that can bring redemption to Witchers like yourself; and, I can do that when I travel by your side,” he’s rambling and he knows it. Jaskier tries to smooth it over with more charming grins and glittering eyes. 

Geralt stared at him.

_ “Oooh... he’s crazy.” _

“Why would I let  _ you _ travel with me?”

“Because I can make you feel  _ alive _ , Geralt!” Jaskier pushed, 

Geralt paused. Mulled the idea over in his head a few times. Renfri. The wind. The blood. The silence. He kept his eyes narrowed as he spoke, “Alive? That’s worth a lot. What else you got?”

Jaskier beamed. 

\---

Being on the road with Jaskier was easier than Geralt thought it would be. Jaskier was just as travel-worn as Geralt. He complained of his feet hurting occasionally, but only in jest, and never spoke of the cold. Quickly the Witcher learned his new leech of a bard had been walking the roads of The Continent for decades. 

“Looking for pieces of a song,” He had explained on one clear but frigid evening. A month or so into traveling together Geralt had asked the bard why he had begun traveling in the first place. The bard had turned to him, a spark lighting up in his eyes as he answered. 

“You’re risking a comfortable life for a song?” 

“It’s not just any song. It’s a song that can move the earth and skies. A song that can even make death weep.”

“And what of the rest of life?”

“Music is my life Geralt. It’s all I’ll ever need.”

“I’m sure any future bride won’t think the same.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, “Any future lover will have to love music as much as I do.”

“Hm,” Geralt hummed as he watched Jaskier, “And how exactly will music buy the wedding bands?”

Jaskier flashed a grin and pulled his lute from his back and began to pluck a tune. Geralt groaned in response as Jaskier started up. 

“When I sing my song, all the rivers will sing along. And they’ll break their banks for me to lay their gold at my feet. All a-flashing in the pan, all to fashion for their hand…” Jaskier sang with a pleasant bounce in his voice. Geralt felt his medallion vibrate slightly against his chest.

“And what of the wedding table? I doubt any father would let you marry his daughter if you couldn’t provide.”

“When I sing my song, all the trees will sing along,” Jaskier belted into the woods. Strangely enough the trees did begin to creak, as if they really were trying to sing along. “And they’ll bend their branches down to me, to lay their fruit around my feet. The Almonds, the apples, and the sugar from the maples…”

“So the song you sing is going to do all that?”

“Yep!” Jaskier laughed playfully, “And when it's finished it'll do even more!”

“Prove it,” Geralt challenged.

“Well I don’t have all the pieces,” Jaskier started to look about, a small blush rising to the tips of his ears. 

“So? Sing what you can,” the Witcher noticed the change in his attitude and became curious. Jaskier was fidgeting and his face became more serious, “Jaskier...sing the song.”

Jaskier cleared his throat and held his lute closer. He turned from Geralt and looked out to the road ahead of them. He suddenly felt too stiff to play something so delicate. He hummed to make sure his lute was in tune before finally opening his mouth. Geralt wasn’t sure what to expect. Jaskier didn’t sing any words, instead the song was composed of only a melody from the depths of the bard. It started small, but crescendoed into something powerful. Geralt’s medallion began to jump from his chest as magic filled the air around him and he felt a warmth spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers. He stared at Jaskier in awe as the bard almost began to glow as he sang in the light of the setting sun that poked through the trees. Jaskier slowly quieted, and gently swayed on his feet for a moment. He caught himself by reaching out for Roach’s reins. Looking out, the two men stopped as they saw what had formed in the path ahead. 

The wildflowers around the road’s edges had crawled out from beneath the half-melted snow sludge and bloomed with a ferocity. Their bold mix of yellows, reds, and blues became a break in the expanse of grey and white that rolled out before them. Tree branches had stretched low, some of which had bright ripe fruit hanging just within arm’s reach. 

“Oh fuck,” Geralt was the first one to speak, something that Jaskier didn’t expect, “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know. It’s still not finished,” Jaskier said, clinging to Roach as his strength came back to him. 

“But it can do all this,” Geralt had seen a lot in his long life. Never had he seen something quite like this. The earth had moved for him, just as Jaskier had said. He looked down to Jaskier and let a short huff of a laugh escape. He knew he would regret it later, but before he could talk himself out of it, Geralt hopped off of Roach and offered a hand to help Jaskier up. The bard stared at him for a beat, then smiled and took the help. He pulled himself up onto Roach and watched as Geralt took the reins to lead her by foot, “You looked like you were about to pass out. I’d rather not have to drape you over her back. You’d be a pain for her to balance.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes at the excuse, but said nothing. Instead he pets Roach’s neck and hums to himself as the sunlight slowly fades.


	2. He's Drunk on Dandelion Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EYYYY It's party time. Enjoy my self-indulgence.

It seemed like all they did was blink. They blinked and suddenly summer was setting and the first few signs of autumn had begun to appear. Geralt was surprised that Jaskier had stayed for so long. He had expected the bard to stray from him at a moment’s notice, but he stayed. Even during the spring showers that left them caked in mud and the summer heat that had them drowning in their own sweat. Geralt had fought vampires, striga, bruxa, wraiths, etcetera etcetera and Jaskier had stayed and watched over Roach every time. He even helped clean out the guts and goo that collected in Geralt’s long hair. The bard stayed there, claiming the song was not yet finished and he was always ‘close’ to finding another piece. 

One cool summer night, they stopped in a tiny tavern in a tiny village. Jaskier had kept his end of the deal, and within a week the song ‘Toss A Coin’ had spread like the plague across The Continent. Every bard and wannabe was singing it in every little tavern. Geralt was beginning to despise it, but it brought in more coin and...well...people had grown a bit kinder. He never thanked Jaskier for it, but perhaps there were a few times he allowed the bard to take a break and ride Roach. Or had given him a bit more food than he gave himself. Jaskier noticed, but never said a word about it, he just kept singing. 

In this tiny tavern in this tiny village, a woman stood amongst a crowd of people. The flowers tucked into her tight curls and her bright green summer gown made her stand out amongst the rest. She held a bottle of wine in one hand, taking a swig of it before passing it around. A few people looked up as the newcomers joined the party. Jaskier quickly threw himself into the middle of it, pulling his lute from his back before he even crossed the threshold. The bar hollered in celebration as Jaskier quickly picked up a tune. Geralt settled for sitting in the corner as per usual. He never was one to find comfort in a crowd.

The woman with the flowers heard Jaskier playing and pushed herself up to him, “You’re quite the player brother. How about you sing with me?”

“I would love to,” Jaskier agreed, “What would you like to play my lady?”

“It’s my own little song. Just follow my lead, you’ll know what to do,” she winked as she jumped to stand on a table. Jaskier raised a brow but started to play a simple melody. The woman bounced on her feet and turned quickly, her skirt billowing around her.

“Well it’s like he said I’m an outdoor girl,” her voice was as sweet and smooth as honey, “Married to the king of the Underworld. Tryin’ to enjoy myself, six months out of every twelve.” The woman danced along the table, a bright smile cracked across her face as she encouraged others to join her song. She turned back to Jaskier as she continued, “When the sun is high, brother so am I, drinkin’ dandelion wine. Brother, I’m as free as a honey bee in a summertime frame of mind. And when my man comes around, oh I know he’s gonna bring me down. But for now I’m livin’ it-”

“How are you livin’ it?” Jaskier echoed back to her.

“Livin’ it, livin’ it up. Brother right here I’m livin’ it.”

“Where are you livin’ it?”

“Livin’ it up on top!” She sang as she hopped from the table and landed with a surprising amount of grace. She spun and danced to the rhythm around Jaskier. 

“Now why would a man of his own free will,” Jaskier belted, surprising the woman. She hadn’t expected him to improvise so easily, “Go to work all day in the mine, in the mill? Why would he trade the sunshine-”

“Tell him how it is, brother!” The woman called.

“For a couple nickels and dimes? Oh, up on top, a man can breathe,” Jaskier looked out through the crowd and encouraged them to sing with him, “Livin’ it, livin’ it up. Picking fruit in the orchard trees. Livin’ it up on top. No one here’s a millionaire but we’re- livin’ it, livin’ it up. What we have, we have to share, livin’ it up on top!” 

The crowd clapped and sang along to the two. Jaskier had joined the woman in her dancing and the two had created quite the makeshift stage for themselves with the chairs and tables. Coins littered Jaskier’s feet, and when he finally took notice, he looked up to search for Geralt. His face was full of pride as he smiled. Geralt rolled his eyes, the bard would be the death of him. Jaskier laughed, then hopped onto a table. He sang to the crowd, but Geralt couldn’t help but feel that the next few lines were pointed at him.

“Come on!” Jaskier sang, “Say, brother, give me a lyre and campfire and an open field at night. Give me a sky that you can’t buy or sell at any price! And I’ll give you a song for free, ‘cause that’s how life ought to be. So that’s how I’m livin’ it!”

The chorus continued, and Geralt just watched. Watching Jaskier perform was always interesting to say the least. He moved so fluidly and could adapt to whatever mood the tavern was in for the night. Sometimes, the lyrics would be personal. Geralt only knew because he knew Jaskier well enough to see the shift in his face. Jaskier sang of everything that interested him. His songs were his own thoughts, and Geralt almost appreciated being able to peek inside. He wasn’t good with people, often having to shake the truth from them. But Jaskier, Jaskier was an open book. He smoothed the edges of Geralt’s words and lightened the mood of whichever person the Witcher had managed to piss off with his poor social skills. He smiled at the bard. It wasn’t a big one nor could Jaskier properly see it as it was hidden by a cup, but Geralt supposed it was the thought that counts. 

“Up on top we ain’t got much, but we’re-” the woman sang.

“Livin’ it, livin’ it up,” the crowd echoed.

“Just enough to fill our cups-”

“Livin’ it up on top,” Jaskier led the chorus as he spun on his table.

“Brother pass that bottle around, ‘cause we’re-”

“Livin’ it, livin’ it up!”

“Let the poet bless this round,” the woman prompted, pushing a glass of wine into his hand. Jaskier laughed and took it. He looked out to the crowd. 

“To the patroness of all of this: Persephone!” he called. The woman looked surprised but kept quiet with her own glass in hand, “To the sunshine, and the fruit of the vine she gives us every year! Asking nothing in return, except we should live and learn to live as brothers in this life, and trust she will provide. If no one takes too much, there will always be enough. She will always fill our cups and we will always raise them up!” Jaskier prompted the crowd to raise their own cups. He looked around, seeing everyone raise their own: except for one. He smirked and looked directly at Geralt, “Well come on.”

The crowd let out a soft roll of laughter, a few turning back to look at Geralt. The man glared at the bard, but reluctantly raised his cup. Satisfied, Jaskier continued, “Let the world we dream about be the one we live in now,” he took a long drink from his cup, finishing it all in one go, impressing himself more than anyone else. He set it down, and with three hard stomps against the table, brought the melody back,” ‘Cause right now we’re livin’ it!”

The woman laughed and jumped up to join him and joined the tavern in belting, “How are you livin’ it?”

“Livin’ it, livin’ it up! Brother right here we’re livin’ it-”

“Where are you livin’ it?”

“Listen here, I’ll tell you where we’re livin’ it! Up on top!”

“Up on top!” the tavern shouted back.

“Livin’ it up and we ain’t gonna stop! Livin’ it, livin’ it-”

“Livin’ it, livin’ it, livin’ it up on top!” 

The sound echoed out as Jaskier strummed the last chord. Applause erupted, and Jaskier took a bow. He gestured to the woman who had performed with him and with a laugh she bowed as well. 

“It was a pleasure singing with you all,” she said, “but I’m afraid it’s time I head out. My husband is waiting for me.”

“At this time of night?” Jaskier asked, picking up the wine glass he was given. 

“He’s just outside the tavern,” she assured him, “He’s not one for crowds. Thank you for a wonderful send off.”

“Send off?” Jaskier questioned, but the woman had already stepped off the table and waltzed her way to the door. He watched her disappear into the late evening, and wondered who she was. 

\---

Jaskier walked about for a minute or two to collect the coins he had earned from the crowd. This tiny tavern in this tiny village had expectly not provided a lot of money, maybe enough for one but not both of them. Jaskier sighed and placed the coins in his coin purse and walked over to where Geralt sat. He plopped himself in the chair across from the Witcher and sunk down. He was exhausted, but knew he could catch his second wind after some rest. He’d preferred a meal, but the weight of his purse said otherwise.

“That was quite a performance,” Geralt commented. Jaskier sighed.

“It was. Too bad I don’t have a lot to show for it,” he tossed his light purse to Geralt. The man looked inside. He grunted and tossed it back with his own coin purse. 

“Get a meal, and a room,” he said as he rose from his seat.

“But what about you?” Jaskier asked, catching both purses in his lap with little grace. 

“I’ll get a contract. There has to be something around here for me to kill. If we’re lucky, I’ll get enough to get us to the next town. Winter will be here soon,” Geralt explained simply.

“Are you sure? Don’t you want something to eat before you go?”

“I’m sure. Enjoy your night Jaskier, rest. The roads will be rough as the cold settles in,” Geralt said. The finality in his tone killed the protest rising from Jaskier. The bard watched as Geralt crossed the tavern to talk to the barmaid. 

Geralt was right. There was something for him to kill and the pay would be enough to get them to get to the next town. He stepped out of the tavern, the old summer air growing cold against his skin. He took a deep breath and started walking. 

He knew he and Jaskier would have to part ways eventually. He just didn’t know that he would dread that moment this much. He had been alone for so long, he hadn’t realized he was lonely. He had grown numb to it, like how he was growing numb to the new cold settling in. 

But Jaskier wasn’t cold. 

No he was sunlight, bright and warm, illuminating everything around Geralt to the point he finds himself forgetting how dark the world can be. How quickly the cold can set in. He didn’t want to leave Jaskier behind for Kaer Morhen. He didn’t want to go back to the lonely life he had lived before the bard had latched onto him. Geralt still didn’t understand why Jaskier stayed, but he was grateful he did, even if the Witcher never said it. 

Geralt paused midstep. An idea had appeared in his head, and his brain had started to mull over it. He could ask Jaskier to join him. There wouldn’t be any guarantee that the bard would say yes, but it was worth it to ask. Geralt continued with haste, nerves itching at him to get the job done quickly so he could return to Jaskier.

\---

_Her suitcase gently taps her leg as she walks with a bottle of wine in hand. A coat of white furs is draped over her green summer gown, yet she doesn’t stand out against the dark forest. She whistles a pretty little tune as she walks on the road to her husband. He’ll be waiting at the door, and she smiles as she thinks of how he’ll welcome her with kisses and sweep her across the threshold._

Geralt wanders the same woods in search for a creature. The barmaid had said the monster had been sneaking into homes and assaulting the owners. Victims had spoken of being paralyzed by a heavy weight and touched. Geralt guessed there could only be a few creatures that would enter a home and hurt but not kill its prey. Succubus. Geralt wanted to talk her into leaving the area, but the money was promised only with proof that it was killed. He didn’t care for killing creatures with intelligence.

_The woman’s eyes light up as she sees signs of the door. He left the lights on for her. Certain stones along the path glow in the moonlight. She picks up the pace, her sandals leaving no footprints in the earth behind her. The leaves of the forest start to turn orange and yellow._

Geralt’s medallion hums, and he breaks out into a sprint. The lair is nearby. He follows the hums of his medallion and the scent of magic deep into the forest. The sky becomes harder to see as the foliage grows thicker. Grass turns to stone and soon Geralt finds himself at the entrance of a cave. A dim light glows from the entrance and he follows it. 

_“Good evening my love,” her husband greets her before she even has the chance to knock. The woman’s smile is enough to outshine the moon as she throws herself into her lover’s arms._

_“I brought us some wine,” she says as he peppers kisses along her cheeks and down her neck. She holds up the bottle like a trophy._

_“I missed you so much my love,” is all her husband says in reply as he looks up at his summertime beauty. The flowers in her hair have started to wilt._

_“My dearest Hades, I’ve missed you too,” she says before leaning in and kissing him. He picks her up and carries her over the threshold._

Geralt finds the succubus sitting in the center of the lair, candles scattered around her. She looks up at Geralt and sees the silver sword in his hands. 

\---

Jaskier does as Geralt asks. He buys himself a meal and a room. He spends his evening playing until his voice grows weary, earning himself some more coin. He puts it in Geralt’s purse and leaves it sitting on the nightstand next to one of the beds for the Witcher when he returns. Jaskier sits himself on the other bed and finds his thoughts wandering. He does only what he knows best, and pulls his lute into his lap. He doesn’t sing, but instead plucks away at the strings and thinks. 

The past few months had given him plenty of inspiration, just not the kind he thought he needed. All his recent lyrics and melodies have been the result of Geralt. Not their travels, but Geralt. Just Geralt. Jaskier pulls at his strings. The melody sends a shiver down his spine, and he rummages for his journal and writes it down. See? There he goes again. 

He had fallen in love many times. Chased after the sweet honey that coated the lips of the ones who had captured his attention. Every time, just a taste was enough. They would leave, and so would he. 

“La la la la la la la…” the song spilled from his mouth like a rising river. 

This was different. Jaskier’s heart pounded against his chest like a drum, keeping the beat as he played. Another melody makes him shiver, and he starts writing. He doesn’t know when it started, perhaps it was in Posada. 

The river rose up and he started singing, “La la la la la la la…” The song he sings steals the breath from his lungs. It had started in Posada. It had to. Why else would he have approached the man? Jaskier pauses to push open the window. He moves to sit on the windowsill and sings like a nightingale into the open air. A smile pulls at his lips as he thinks to himself.

_“I’ve found quite the muse…”_


	3. And Suddenly He Was Only A Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't lost passion for this little mini-project, which has kind of surprised me lol. My college classes have started up though, so I don't know how that'll change my update times. I don't have a calendar or anything since this was just started as something for fun, but I've gotten this far and I'd prefer not to give up now lol. Anyway, enjoy this update and #HimboRights for these two. They are very dumb, but also very kind. Pure of heart, dumb of ass if you will.

The succubus keeps her eyes on the blade, “Here to get rid of me?”

“It would appear so,” Geralt replies evenly, staring at her with black eyes. The cave makes their voices echo. The candles provide plenty of light for both of them to see, but the ceilings of the cave melt into pitch black as the stretch of the light reaches its limit.

“Don’t you Witchers normally just try to chase us off?” she asks, taking her eyes from the blade to his face. 

“If I asked nicely would you?” Geralt retorted. The creature let out a laugh.

“I suppose not. Afterall, some have wised up to the trick. They asked for my head as proof didn’t they?” as she speaks, she rises to her cloven feet and takes a step towards him. Geralt doesn’t reply. He raises his sword. She raises her brow and tilts her head, “They did. I figured as much. In my long life, I’ve encountered many of you Witchers, it was only a matter of time before I would have to kill one of y-”

Geralt didn’t let her finish. He charged towards her. The succubus waved her hand and a flurry of flames roared in front of him. Geralt rolled away from them and quickly cast Quen. Yellow light surrounds him as flames crawl up the barrier. The heat became intense as it burned against his shield. He backed up a few paces, only to find himself being grabbed in an iron grip and thrown across the cave. He hits the ground, his sword under him and the blade digs into his right leg. Geralt skids to a stop and quickly pushes himself up. His leg started to sting, and soon crimson blood soaked through the cloth of his pants. 

_ “La la la la la la la…” _

A faint sound is carried along the wind, but neither take notice. The succubus stared at him, a smirk playing at her lips. Geralt simply raised his sword once more. The cut was nothing. It was already starting to heal. The two began to circle one another, each pushing for control. The succubus opened her palms, balls of fire swirling and growing in both hands. Geralt held his sword in one hand, and with his free hand, stretched and curled his hand. He watched the succubus twitch her hands to throw, and quickly cast Aard. The bright light that shoots out towards her echoes throughout the cave and causes a few rocks to fall to the floor. She’s thrown back into a cave wall, but, just as Geralt had done, quickly recovers. It doesn’t matter, by the time she does Geralt is charging towards her. He swings his sword down towards her torso. The succubus screams as the silver blade slices into her skin. The scream shakes the cave once more as she kicks at Geralt with her legs. He dodges the kick and pulls his arm back to swing again. 

_ “La la la la la la la…” _

The song swirls into the cave. It’s not a normal -human- melody, but it’s full of magic. Geralt pauses as he hears it, and that’s all it takes for the succubus to get the chance to grab him by the arm in her iron grip once more. He digs his heels into the rock and fights with his own strength to pull himself free. He grits his teeth as he manages to swipe at a hoofed foot with his leg. The succubus is knocked from her stance and it's Geralt’s turn to throw her across the room. She hits the ground hard and lays still for a moment. Geralt pants as he marches towards her. He can hear how ragged his breath is as he moves. Succubi were always a pain in the ass to kill. Their strength was on par with his, making each fight a test of wits rather than brawn. 

_ “Singing: la la la la la la la…” _

The voice sounded familiar. He tries to shake it from his mind but it stays. The melody sounded like something Jaskier would sing…

Geralt approaches the succubus. He reluctantly raises his sword and moves to swing it down. Then, she moves. Cornflower blue eyes are suddenly staring at him, and Geralt is frozen in place. His sword is mere inches from the succubus’ throat, but the face staring at him was not the demon he had been fighting moments earlier. Jaskier is laying on the floor, blood running down his forehead and staring up at him with wide eyes. Slowly, Jaskier reaches up for Geralt’s arm. Before he can snap himself out of it, Geralt feels the succubus (incubus?) lock onto his arm. She twists his sword out of his hand, and in a flash he feels his own blade slice across the skin of his neck. He falls to the ground, his head hitting cold stone. He can’t breathe and his vision is leaving him. 

“Quite the fight you gave Witcher,” he hears, “never thought a song would be-”

He isn’t awake long enough to hear the rest.

\---

The next time Geralt feels aware of himself is when he feels a new presence next to him. His eyes slowly open, and he feels strangely light. A man stands in front of him, quiet and watching. Large wings rest on his back and the way he’s watching Geralt doesn’t make the Witcher feel unsafe, but definitely uncomfortable. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve collected one of your kind,” the man says. His voice is low and soft. 

“Who are you?” Geralt asks, but his heart sinks as his intuition assumes the worst.

“Thanatos. God of Death,” he answers, “Your kind don’t expect me for many years, I know, but every living thing is destined to meet me at one time or another.”

“Death?” the word comes out of Geralt in a breath. He looks around, noticing that the cave was now empty save for the body at his feet. His body. At his own feet. He takes a step back.

“Yes Geralt. Death. Like I said, I know your kind don’t usually meet me for many more years but-”

“Jaskier.”

“Come now Geralt. I can’t leave souls wandering,” Thanatos holds his hand out for Geralt to take. 

“I-I can’t. I have someone waiting for me,” Geralt steps back. Jaskier was still at the Inn, probably asleep. He would think Geralt left him. He couldn’t- no he wouldn’t- he wouldn’t leave without at least letting Jaskier what had happened. Where he’d gone.

“Jaskier?” Thanatos guessed. Geralt nodded. The God sighed, “You’re not the first pair of lovers-”

“W-we’re not-”

“Fine. You’re not the first two birds of a feather this has happened to. The only mercy I can grant is the peace of death Geralt. Now come.”

“He needs to know where I’ve gone. He’ll think I abandoned him. He’ll think-”

“Witcher. Life isn’t easy. It isn’t the least bit fair. We’ve all got to fight for our share. The chips are down. Fold your cards. The game is over, and there is no restart. Geralt. A witcher’s existence is to kill the monsters that threaten humanity until they finally find a monster bigger and smarter than themselves. Then they die. You know this…”

Geralt fell silent. 

“I’ll only ask one more time. Come with me,” Thanatos commanded, though his voice maintained a softness to it. Almost as if he pitied Geralt. The Witcher stared at the God's outstretched hand. 

_ “Jaskier, my heart is yours. Always was, always will be…” he thinks, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to need anyone or anyone to need me, and yet I’ve done both. I hope you can forgive me when we see each other again. Take your time…” _

Geralt took the hand, and then he was gone. 

\---

Jaskier spends two days wrapped in his nerves. Geralt never took more than a night on simple hunts. He had sworn it to be a simple hunt! After one day, Jaskier was worried. After two days, Jaskier was starting to panic. After three, Jaskier began asking around the village. While wandering he saw Roach, still sitting comfortably in her rented stable. That’s when the frenzied panic hit him. If Geralt had ditched him, he would’ve taken Roach with him. She was here. Geralt was gone. Jaskier became desperate. 

Finally, Jaskier got an answer from the barmaid. The Witcher had gone deep into the forest to find an old cave that was rumored to house some sort of creature. Jaskier thanked her and immediately ran from the tavern towards the forest. He didn’t have a plan, or even a real direction. He just needed to find Geralt. 

Jaskier started his journey through the woods early that morning. He didn’t find the cave until sunset.

“Geralt!” he called out. There wasn’t an answer.

Jaskier pulled a silver dagger from his boots and held it close to himself as he cautiously walked into the cave. The dim light of the dying candles provided just enough light for Jaskier to see the body laying on the stone floor. Silver hair spread out and gold eyes wide open. Jaskier froze in place, dropping his dagger with a loud clang.

“Geralt…” his voice trembled as he dared to step closer. Geralt didn’t answer. He wasn’t breathing. Jasker dropped to his knees next to the body, covering his mouth with a shaky hand as he looked down, “Geralt this isn’t funny.” Geralt still didn’t answer. Jaskier broke. His sobs echoed off the walls as he pressed his head against Geralt’s chest. His breath came in short hiccups as his body struggled to breathe between sobs. He clung to the Witcher, almost as if he held on just tight enough he could shake the man into coming back to life. 

He doesn’t know how long he lies like that, and he can’t bring himself to care. Each time he thinks that he can finally raise his head, he feels grief pulling it back down like a weight. Finally, the bard wore himself out enough to pull himself up. He stares down at Geralt’s face and carefully closes the man’s eyes. The simple action sends Jaskier into a short burst of sobs. He looked at Geralt through wet eyelashes. 

“I…” he doesn’t know why he starts talking, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no one to hear him, “I finished the song Geralt. I finished it. I never got to show you.” Jaskier pulled his lute from his back. With shaking fingers, he gently strummed the strings. He closed his eyes and listened to the music bounce off the walls of the cave. Geralt certainly picked a place with nice acoustics to die in. The thought, though meant to be a light joke, nearly throws Jaskier into sobs again. Tears run down his cheeks as not a sob, but the song spills from him. 

_ “La la la la la la la…” _

The song echoes off the walls and surrounds him. It doesn’t sound nearly as beautiful as it did last night. No. It sounds like a desperate cry. A wail to whomever was listening. It’s ugly and raw and Jaskier practically screams it. It’s angry and bitter. It’s sorrowful and empty. It’s a plea to return what was lost, and a denial that what was lost can never be returned. Jaskier doesn’t know if he’s singing or wailing, it all began to sound the same to him.

_ “La la la la la la la…” _

The cave amplifies the sound, letting it be heard across the forest. However, this was more than a song because Jaskier was more than human. Dear reader, his song stretched farther than he could understand. The grieving bard’s song entered the air of every village, town, and kingdom within a week's journey of the cave. The song wasn’t simply just heard. It was felt. Men and women alike could be seen wiping subtle tears from their eyes. Children cried and couldn’t be consoled. Crops wilted, flowers wilted, and the birds stopped singing. Joy had been sucked from the air. There was no entertainment to be found in playing with the falling leaves. No motivation for autumn festivals. No pride in a bountiful harvest. 

When Jaskier sang the song of his broken heart, he broke the hearts of all those who heard it. The song didn’t end after a minute, or five, or sixty. No. Jaskier’s grief simply could not fit in his chest. He sang all night. Then all of the following day. Soon one day became days. The crops lost their taste, the flowers lost their color, and birds couldn’t be found anywhere in the skies.

By day five, Jaskier’s father had had enough. Now, do you remember what I said in the beginning dear reader? Jaskier’s father was not some common man tending a field, no Jaskier’s father was a God. The God of Music, Poetry, Teenage Narcissism etcetera etcetera we’ve heard it all before. Anyway, Jaskier’s father had heard the song and seen its effect on those around him, and he saw how the prose was quickly becoming a problem. He knew he’d have a major problem on his hands if he didn’t stop this and stop it quickly. 

Jaskier’s song was still full of grief and wrapped around him when Apollo found him. The God was a bit impressed by Jaskier’s endurance and dedication to his grief, and the song was quite beautiful. However, he knew he shouldn’t get too wrapped up in Jaskier’s technique, there was a larger problem at hand. 

Jaskier flinched as a bright light appeared in the cave. The candles had long since burned out, and he had been in the dark for quite a while. His eyes burned as they adjusted and he tried to focus on the man in front of him.

“Look kid,” Apollo knew it probably wasn’t the best start to this discussion, but he had to start somewhere, “You’ve got to stop singing. Half of The Continent is knee deep in your tears.”

The bard paused his playing and narrowed his eyes, “Who are you to tell me to stop? My...my best friend was murdered! He died trying to provide for me, I should’ve been there. I never should’ve let him go-”

“Julian. He was a Witcher. Their life is dedicated to hunting monsters to protect humanity. They know when they first step foot on The Path that one day they’ll find a monster stronger, faster, or smarter than them. It’s an honorable death-”

“To hell with honor!” Jaskier cried, he didn't think to question who the man was or how the man knew his name, “I had just finished the song...I never got to show him.”

Apollo watched his son drop his head. The fight that had been there seeping out in hot tears. The bard’s thumb gently pulled at the strings under his hand, intending to start the song again.

“Wait! Wait!” The God called, reaching forward desperately. Jaskier stiffened and looked up with tired eyes. Apollo sighed, “There might be another way.”

“Another way?” Jaskier asked quickly.

“Another way. A way to bring your friend back. I’m not really supposed to s-”

Jaskier immediately rises to his feet and gets a wild look in his eyes, “Tell me right now or I swear to the Gods I will-”

“Don’t threaten me with the Gods. I am a God,” Apollo snapped at him. Jaskier doesn’t budge. Apollo pinches the bridge of his nose, “It isn’t an easy road to travel.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll have to take the long way down, through the underground. You need to stay low, out of sight. There is no map to the Underworld. Just follow the road and don’t look back until you’ve reached the bottomland,” Apollo explained. 

Jaskier clung onto every word, “Where do I start?”

Apollo motioned for Jaskier to follow him. The bard did so without hesitation, and together the two began to walk through the forest. Apollo continued to give him instructions, “The River Styx is high and wide. Don’t try to cross it. Take this coin and pay the toll. There’s a howling hound dog that guards the gates. Offer his three heads a bone each or lull them to sleep with that lute of yours. Don’t give your name and don’t look the dead in the eye. The Underworld is meant to suck the life out of everything that enters. Don’t eat or drink anything offered.”

Jaskier was halfway listening, but part of his mind kept its focus on a simple chant.

_ “Wait for me. I’m coming, Geralt. I’m coming with you.” _

The God paused suddenly. Jaskier let out a yelp as he ran into his back and tumbled backwards much to the amusement of Apollo. The God looked back and gestured to the path ahead of him. It's rough and covered in foliage, but marked by large stones that cut through some of the overgrowth. Just up the path Jaskier can see it. A door, dark and almost unnoticeable if Apollo had not been pointing directly at it. 

“Just walk through that door. It’ll take you straight to the Underworld.”

“Can you come with me?” Jaskier asked, looking up at the God, “You can imagine how intimidating this can be. I mean, I’m a mortal bard and you’re a whole God. I’d feel much safer with a powerful deity showing me around.”

Apollo tensed and shook his head, “I’m not a chthonic God kid. I have no power in the Underworld. All I can do is bring you to the door. However, if it’s any consolation, I know you’ll be okay.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I am a God of many things. Prophecy is one of them.” 

“And what about Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he nervously looked towards the door.

“He’s in the Underworld Julian,” was the only answer he got. Jaskier took in a deep breath through clenched teeth and started down the path. Apollo crossed his arms with a huff, “I don’t get a thank you? Anything?”

Jaskier turned on his heels to face the God, but continued walking backwards, “I’ll thank you when I return, alive and with Geralt.”

Apollo watched as the bard turned away and walked to the door. The knob was cold under his fingers as Jaskier turned it. It squeaked, and as he pulled the door open, the hinges creaked and groaned with the weight of the heavy oak door. A frigid breeze washed over him as Jaskier peered into the dark. The otherside was as dark as night, though there were no stars to guide him here. 

“Are you sure this is the path?” he asks, glancing back. All he finds is empty forest. He lets out a short groan before turning back to the darkness. He steps inside, and the heavy door slams shut behind him. Jaskier took another deep breath and placed a hand against the cold dirt wall to help guide himself. The tunnel was silent; he could hear his heart beating in his ears. Still, he pressed on. Fear creeped up his spine, but another force within himself pulled him forward. 

It was the same force that had brought him to Geralt in Posada. Jaskier opened his mouth and soothed himself the only way he knew how.

“Wait for me, I’m coming. Wait for me, I’m coming with you. Wait for me, I’m coming too, I’m coming…” Jaskier sang quietly to himself. His song echoed off the walls, but he figured anything was better than the deafening silence.


	4. Hear That Mighty Trumpet Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there!!! The original concept that started all of this is coming up in the next chapter.

Geralt stands in front of the River Styx along with a crowd of other recently deceased. The Underworld isn’t nearly as...hot as he was expecting. Nor is it as cold. It’s neutral, almost numbing. There isn’t a sky to look at to check the time, only what he can assume to be dirt. A path is worn into the dirt under him. A lifetime of travelers have carved the way to the ferry. Geralt waits patiently, watching from a distance as the boat gently travels to and from the banks of the River Styx. 

It isn’t long before it’s his turn to board the boat. He looks at the ferryman who holds his hand out expectantly. “The toll,” he croaks. His hand is nearly skeletal but his eyes are ablaze. Geralt freezes in place.

“I don’t have-”

“The medallion will do Witcher,” the ferryman says simply. Geralt looks down. The snarling wolf stares back at him. He hesitantly pulls it from his neck and places the medallion into the skeletal palm. The ferryman is satisfied and Geralt steps onto the boat. He feels naked without it hanging from his neck, and it hurts him to give it up. He hadn’t realized how attached he was to the thing.

The ride to the other side is smooth and silent. Some are pushed overboard into the waters of the Styx, but the rest of the passengers are left at peace. They reach the other side and Geralt calmly steps off. Another line awaits him as shades of some kind work to organize the dead. There were so many shades, none of which Geralt recognized nor recognized him. 

Geralt was used to passive aggressive stares at the bare minimum, but here no one even gave him a glance. He was just like the others, dead to the world. Everything and everyone seemed completely lifeless. Geralt stifled a short laugh. Jaskier would’ve appreciated the pun.

Jaskier.

Geralt’s heart sinks. He hopes Jaskier is okay. He really hopes Jaskier isn’t looking for him. The bitter taste of guilt hits his tongue and swells. He wonders if his bard is hurting, heartbroken. Even worse, he wonders if the bard took this as a chance to escape him and run. He pushes the thought down. Jaskier had plenty of chances to leave, and he never did.

Instead it was Geralt who had left. Not willingly of course but he was still gone. 

_“It wasn’t your fault Jaskier.”_

Geralt looks up as the line moves forward. For a massive crowd, the workers move relatively quickly. Suddenly, he’s in the front of the line and their progress stops. 

“He’s supposed to be in Elysium,” one worker mutters, pointing to something on a board.

“Yes but look here,” the other points to something else, “He qualifies for The Mourning Fields as well.”

They’re speaking in very hushed tones, but apparently Witcher hearing carries on into the next life as well. Geralt glances between the two and that familiar feeling of being examined crawls over him. 

“Let me call Head Office,” the first worker says, pulling out a piece of parchment paper and scribbling something down with a quill. They let out a sharp whistle, and a snow white owl appeared to take the message.

“Sir we’re going to have you stand to the side while we sort this out. My sincerest apologies,” the second worker says with the tense smile of a retail worker. Geralt doesn’t reply, he just moves and lets them work. Apparently dying was also something Witchers struggled with. He watched as shades moved past him. He felt awkward, slightly embarrassed, and completely alone. 

The snow white owl returned after what felt like an eternity to Geralt, but was truly only a few minutes. The second worker read it over, then nodded.

“Well. I was half right,” they say to the first worker before turning to Geralt, “You’ve been assigned to The Mourning Fields for now. Just walk through the gates and take a right. You should see the sign.”

They hand Geralt a piece of paper. All that is written is his name and ‘The Mourning Fields, transfer in 5 ’ across the top. He takes it and follows the instructions wordlessly. He thinks he’s gone the wrong way at first, but the sign above the entrance says it clearly.

In front of him is a wide expanse of fields. The sky above him is a dark grey and its hue hovers over everything. The vegetation isn’t quite dead, but it doesn’t look particularly alive either. Most of the greenery is flower bushes with wilting petals or trees with sinking branches. Everything appears to be hunched over into itself. Geralt is confused as to why he was sent here of all places until he reads the plaque embedded into the gates. 

_“The Fields of Mourning are reserved for the souls of those whom ruthless love did waste away. Not even in death have they forgotten their griefs of long ago.”_

He swallows down the lump forming in his throat. 

“You’re new,” a small voice comes from behind him. Geralt turns to see a short woman standing behind him. Her eyes are bloodshot and he can still see tear trails that trace down her cheeks, “Wasted your life on empty love too huh?”

“I lived to be over one hundred years of age,” Geralt said stiffly, “I would hardly say I wasted my life on love.”

“And yet...you’re here,” she says with a weak smile. Geralt tenses, making the woman laugh softly, “It’s no Elysium, but it’s not so bad here either. You can mourn in peace, and the Lady of the Underground takes pity on us. There’s a little tavern that sits between the fields and The Asphodel Meadows. She stops by from time to time. Brings a little life to eternity.” 

“Do they serve drinks?” Geralt asks. The woman nods.

“Plenty to drink sir. Plenty,” she gives him a pitiful smile and pats his shoulder gently. He pulls away out of instinct, “Just know, the alcohol only lasts so long.” 

Geralt walks away from her without a word. He just needed to get away and get a drink. The reality of what was happening sunk deeper into him the longer he allowed his thoughts to race. A drink. He needed to get drunk and just escape for a minute. A moment. Maybe if he was lucky, even an eternity. 

He follows the gates that separate the fields from the rest of the Underworld. It’s quite the walk, but he makes it. It’s a small tavern with low hanging wooden chandeliers that Geralt has to duck under. It’s dimly lit and a small band plays a soft tune in the corner. He looks around, trying to find a bartender. There’s no one except the few other patrons in the bar. Frustrated, Geralt engages in his regular habit of sitting in the corner and brooding. Eventually that loses its luster and he sets his head against the table. His white hair curtains his face; so, he doesn’t spot the woman stepping into the tavern.

However, the band does take notice and starts up a tune. The woman laughs and tosses off her coat of furs. She swings herself around to stand behind the bar. The other patrons glance up and a small roll of cheers starts up. The woman, dressed in a fine black silk gown, picks up a glass.

“I don’t know about you boys,” she drags her words in a way that makes the small crowd laugh, “But if you’re like me, been hangin’ around this ole manhole is bringin’ you down. Six-feet-under, getting under your skin. You’re stir crazy, you’re stuck in a rut! You could use a little pick me up.”

As the woman sings, she begins to pull a few bottles up from behind the bar. She swings them back and forth before popping them open.

“I can give you what it is you crave. A little somethin’ from the good ole days. I got the wind right here in a jar, I got the rain on tap at the bar, I got sunshine up on the self.” 

The patrons stand up to crowd around her as she shows off her collection. She looks at a man standing close to her. She picks up a jar and holds it out to him, “Let me guess, it’s the little things you miss. Spring flowers, autumn leaves. Ask me brother, and you shall receive.”

She glances at a woman who is staring intensely at the bottle in front of her. She laughs and plucks it off the bar, “Or maybe these just ain’t enough. Maybe you’re looking for some stronger stuff. I got a sight for the sorest eyes. When’s the last time you saw the sky?”

Shades start pouring into the little tavern, filling it up as word travels that the Lady of the Underground has arrived. She stands up on the bar as the band plays louder, “You want stars? I got a sky full!”

The crowd whistles and cheers. The Lady laughs and jumps from the bar, pouring some out to awaiting cups, “You want the moon? I got her too. She’s right here waiting in my pay-per-view…”

As she waltzes around the bar, she sees Geralt sitting in the corner, his head down. She pauses. When he raises his head, she instantly recognizes him. She didn’t run into Witchers very often when she was in the Overworld, and she was certain she had seen this one alive the last time she was there. She shoots a smile to the crowd in front of her and continues her song as she slinks towards him. Geralt notices it immediately and goes to leave, but she catches him. She holds up another jar in front of him. 

“How long’s it been?” she sings to him, “A little moonshine ain’t no sin.”

He freezes in place, and then takes the jar. He looks up at The Lady, hesitant to actually take a drink.

“What the boss don’t know, the boss won’t mind,” she sings, bringing the song to an abrupt close. She sits down in front of Geralt and stares at him as he drinks, “What are you doing here Witcher?”

Geralt sets the jar of moonshine down and looks at her evenly, “I died.”

She scoffs, “I meant _here_. Most Witchers are sent to Elysium.” 

Geralt doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out the paper he was given before crossing through the gates. He tosses it across the table. The Lady picks it up and reads the print. Her eyes widened for a moment. Geralt felt like he could physically see her putting pieces together.

“I know you,” he murmurs, “You’re the woman from the tavern.”

“You were the one who didn’t raise his glass,” she replied quietly.

“I did. The bard just likes to cause trouble,” he replied shortly. 

“The bard…” she glanced back at the paper, “What was his name?”

Geralt opened his mouth, then slowly closed it. He stared at the table, grasping for the name. How could he forget? Where did it go? The Lady must have sensed his panic. She stretched her arm out and gently placed it over his hand.

“You’re starting to forget. It’s okay. That’s normal. See, it says here that you’ll be transferred in five days. By then you won’t remember your ties to your mortal life, and you’ll be free to enter Elysium,” she explained in a soft tone. Her words only fueled his panic more.

“What do you mean forget? I can’t- not him. I know his name. It’s- it’s,” he tugs at his hair. The Lady sighs.

“It’s okay. Everyone who comes here forgets eventually. Especially those destined for Elysium. A hero’s paradise can’t be tainted by pains of the past.”

“Fuck!” Geralt could hear The Lady, but he was struggling with accepting what she was saying. She rose from her seat.

“Brother, I’m sorry for your loss, but this is the Underworld. You’ve reached the Rivers of Oblivion. The kiss death has taken your life. There’s no going back, such is the way of the world.”

Geralt stood up from his seat. Without another world he left The Lady sitting at the table as he ran out of the tavern. She watched him leave, and with a sigh, returned to the rest of the bar. 

\---

Geralt looked out at the fields. Was it morning or night? Did it even matter? All he wanted was to fall asleep. Close his eyes and disappear from this nightmare he had found himself in. He didn’t used to be so adverse to death. Part of him wonders if it was because he never had someone with him to be worth staying alive for. He didn’t want to need anyone. He didn’t want anyone needing him. That didn’t stop him from dreaming at times. Dreaming of someone who would walk with him to the ends of the earth. Dreaming of someone who wouldn’t look at him and see a monster, but a man trying to survive.

_"Dreams are sweet, until they’re not."_

Look where dreaming had gotten him. Heartbroken and wandering fields meant for those who wasted their love on someone who never returned it. Had he really wasted the last year of his life? 

_"After all, men are kind, until they aren’t."_

No. He hadn’t. The man didn’t bring him sadness. He didn’t look at him with fear. He had walked by Geralt’s side and looked at him with bright, cornflower blue eyes.

_"Flowers bloom, until they rot, and fall apart."_

He was a fool for falling in love. Witchers weren’t supposed to fall in love; and, especially not in love with humans, but he didn’t regret it. The man may have not felt the same way, but Geralt didn’t need his love. He just needed the bard there, singing and making the flowers bloom. That was enough.

Flowers. He remembered fields of flowers, soft beneath his heels. And he remembered walking in the sun, he remembered someone. Someone by his side turned his face to Geralt’s, and Geralt had turned away into the shade.

_“You, the one I left behind. If you ever walk this way, come and find me, lying in the bed I made…”_

\---

Time doesn’t pass in the Underworld as it does up above, but for simplicity's sake, Geralt was on day five of his stay in the afterlife. As the days went on he forgot more and more of his previous life. He could still remember bits and pieces, after all, over one hundred years of memory was a lot to erase; but, he was still forgetting. One day he found he could hardly recall his own name. He only remembered because of the paper he was given. The fear of losing everything weighed down his stomach; he had finally found something he couldn’t fight through.

He spent his days wandering the fields. They were quite tranquil, with the exception of heartbroken weeping that constantly pervaded the silence. Geralt never found himself among them. Even in death he preferred to mourn internally. 

On the fifth day he stood by the gates. The paper served as a reminder that he would be taken elsewhere soon. Elysium, shades kept mentioning the place. A ‘hero’s paradise’ they said. Geralt wondered if it was really worth it. 

As he stood at the gates thinking, a melody began to travel along the wind. Geralt raised his head and looked around. The melody gets louder before a crash comes as something tumbled into the iron gates, followed by a flurry of curses, and suddenly a body stumbled and lands in front of him. It mutters something about the ‘damn brambles’ before looking up at Geralt.

“How was my performance?” the form asks, clearly winded.

“It’s you,” Geralt says in a breath.

“It’s me.”

“Jaskier.”

“Still sticking with the one word answers huh Geralt?” he grins as he stands and rushes towards Geralt. He wraps his arms around the Witcher and pulls him into a tight hug. Geralt hugs him back and feels the fog lifting from his mind. Everything comes back to him as he envelops the bard. He buries his face into the man's shoulder without thinking, breathing him in and feeling how alive he was.

“How’d you get here?” Geralt asks suddenly, pulling away to take a better look at Jaskier, “Did you…?”

“No, I walked. A long way. The road was a real ass to get through,” Jaskier laughed. He didn’t let go of Geralt. He kept his hands firmly on his Witcher.

“How’d you get through? The river-”

“I sang a song so beautiful- _and kind of depressing_ \- it caught the attention of a God, and he showed me the way. And I can sing us home again Geralt.”

Geralt’s expression fell, “No. You can’t.”

“Yes I can.”

“You don’t understand-”

“ **_Young man_ **.”


	5. The Wild Bird's Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just...the very idea of Persephone explaining to Geralt that being in love is okay makes me go feral. Anyway, we're almost at the end!

The man’s voice is deep and rumbles into the earth; the two hardly got the chance to react. Before he knew it, Geralt was being ripped from Jaskier’s arms by Furies and carried off to who knows where. Jaskier found his arms locked by two other Furies. Between all of them stood a tall and dark man. His coat of furs makes his shoulders stretch abnormally outwards and the iron crown that sits on his head only serves to make him look taller.

“Bring him,” the man says simply as he turns to walk away.

“Wait! Who are you?” Jaskier demands as the Furies roughly drag him along.

“Now’s not the time to be talking Mr. Pankratz,” the man says, not turning back.

“How do you-” Jaskier starts before a Fury shakes him into just grumbling under his breath.

He’s taken to a large and mostly empty room, save for the two large thrones sitting at the opposite end. One was made of stone black iron bars that stretch up into spikes. The second was almost identical, save for the purple rose vines that wrapped around the bars. The tall man marches down the floor, taking off his fur coat and letting it drape over the back of the seat as he sat in the first throne. Jaskier was pushed along and stopped just before the steps that led up to the man’s feet. Jaskier swallowed as he looked up.

“Do you know where you are?” the man asks.

“The Underworld,” Jaskier answers evenly. Contrary to popular opinion, Jaskier did know when to shut the fuck up.

“Do you know who I am?”

“No sir.”

“I am Hades. King of the Underworld,” the man says, his voice low but not threatening...yet. Hades leans back in his throne and raises his leg to cross over the other. He folds his hands and sets them in his lap, “Now. I am in charge of keeping care of the dead, so it would be much appreciated if you could explain how you got here when you are so clearly living?”

Jaskier opened his mouth, and the story just flew out.

\---

Geralt was placed in a room that connected to the throne room. The Furies remained in the room with him, guarding the only two exits. Geralt sat at a table with his head in his hands. 

The door from the hallway creaked open. The Furies tensed for a moment before relaxing back into their position. In the doorway stood The Lady. She was dressed in a dark purple gown that brushed against the ground and her hair was pulled up into a black head wrap. She looked to Geralt and sighed. She walked over to him and sat down across from him.

“Your bard came for you.”

“Hm,” is the only reply she gets.

“I would think you’d be happier.”

“What do I have to be happy about?” Geralt raises his head, “He came here to bring me back. Now who knows what’ll happen to him. Why would he do this?”

“He loves you.”

Geralt shakes his head, “No. No no no. He doesn’t.”

“He came to the Underworld to find you Geralt,” she argues.

“Now he’ll be trapped here forever. And for what? I never should have agreed to let him travel with me. I should’ve scared him off, called him a crazy bastard and left him in that shitty little tavern in Posada. In my selfishness I’ve shackled him to myself and dragged him down here with me…” Geralt clenches his fists and tries to keep himself from shaking. The Lady stares at him for a while and lets the silence blanket them. Eventually she just smiles and speaks once more.

“You remind me of my husband,” she says, “He had the same fears.”

“Hm.”

The Lady takes that as a sign to keep talking, “Take it from a woman of my age, love is not a gilded cage. Love was when he came to me, begging on bended knee to please have pity on his heart, and let him lay me in the dirt. I felt his arms around me then, we didn’t need a wedding bed. Dark seeds scattered on the ground, the wild birds flying around,” she pauses at the fond memory. Geralt glances up and takes notice of the smile gracing her lips and the fondness in her eyes, “That’s when I became his wife. That was when I still went by Kore. Do you know what ‘Kore’ means as a name?”

Geralt shook his head.

“It means ‘maiden’ or sometimes ‘pure’. Do you know what the name ‘Persephone’ means?,” she pauses, though the question was rhetorical, “ ‘Persephone’ means ‘bringer of death or destruction’.”

“A powerful name,” Geralt said quietly. The Lady nodded slowly.

“It is. And it’s the name Hades gave to me after I married him. But that name represents more than power Geralt; it’s a name that made me feel _alive_. Do you know how much that’s worth?”

“It’s worth a lot.”

\---

When Jaskier finished his story, Hades let out a short hum, “So. I guess that only leaves me with one last question, what do you want?”

“I want Geralt to come back with me,” Jaskier answered.

“Mr. Pankratz you know just as well as I do, the dead do not return to the living,” as he finished speaking, one of the doors to the room opened. At first, Hades opened his mouth to scold whoever chose to interrupt them, then softened when he saw his wife. She smiled at him and walked down to her throne.

“Forgive my tardiness my love, I got caught up in a conversation with-”

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls as he sees his Witcher through the doorway as a Fury closes the door. The bard ignores the new person to run towards the door. The Fury slams it shut in his face.

“Yes him,” she laughs as she sits down.

“It’s alright my dear,” Hades replies quietly, sending a glare Jaskier’s way as he kisses his wife’s hand. 

“Now. I assume you let him speak,” Persephone asks her husband. Hades nods.

“I let him explain how he got here. He’s one of Apollo’s boys.”

“That would explain a lot.”

“But he says he wants to take the Witcher back with him.”

“Ah. Well, did you allow him to state his case?” Persephone asks sweetly. Hades furrows his brows.

“Well...no. The man is dead, he can’t return to the living. It’s the rules,” he says. Persephone pats his hand.

“Why not hear him out love? Please?” she asks, fluttering her eyelashes. Hades sucks in a breath through his teeth, then begrudgingly nods. She grins, “Bard! Approach the thrones please.”

Jaskier doesn’t get the chance to turn and walk over himself. The same Furies who dragged him in take him in their arms and drag him over.

“I am perfectly capable of walking myself!” Jaskier snaps, but they don’t let go. They place him in front of the King and Queen and then step back. Jaskier looks up at them, and his eyes go wide as he recognizes the woman from the tavern. She smiles.

“My husband says you’d like to take your Witcher home with you. That is not a privilege given lightly, so please, state your case.”

“M-my case?”

“Yes. Your case. Why should we let him go home with you?” 

Jaskier squirms under their stares. He hadn’t exactly prepared to give a speech, “W-well um...I uh-”

“A little birdie told me,” Persephone cuts him off, “That you’re a particularly good poet. Use your art if that helps.”

Jaskier quickly pulls his lute from his back. He stares down at the frets, trying to find a melody to win them over. Only one comes to mind and he relaxes as he strums the first chord. 

\---

“Heavy and hard is the heart of the king. King of iron, king of steel.The heart of the king loves everything, like the hammer loves the nail,” Hades snorts as the song begins. He doesn’t understand why mortals think that kissing up will grant favors, but he lets the song continue.

“But the heart of a man is a simple one. Small and soft, flesh and blood, and all that it loves is a woman. A woman is all that it loves. And Hades is King of the scythe and the sword. He covers the world in the color of rust. He scrapes the sky and scars the earth, and he comes down heavy and hard on us. But, even that hardest of hearts unhardened; suddenly, when he saw her there. Persephone in her mother’s garden. Sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair. The smell of the flowers she held in her hand and the pollen that fell from her fingertips,” Jaskier sings in a fight to get Hades to understand. In his mind he begs, prods, Hades to understand what Jaskier is losing, “And suddenly Hades was only a man with a taste of nectar upon his lips, singing-”

 _“_ _La la la la la la la…_ _”_

The melody spills from him the same way it did the night Geralt died. The roses on Persephone’s throne grow fuller and more vibrant. 

_“_ _La la la la la la la…_ _”_

He hadn’t raised his voice, but just like it had in the cave, the melody amplified. It stretched beyond the throne room and into the halls of Hades’ castle. Shades in the The Asphodel Meadows paused their wandering.

 _“_ _La la la la la la la…_ _”_

Shades in The Mourning Fields ceased their weeping as the melody filled the air. For a moment, their grey sky warmed to a pink.

 _“_ _La la la la la la la…_ _”_

The song even traveled to Elysium. Heroes enjoying their peace would turn their eyes to the sky as the melody carried itself along the wind.

Jaskier looks up from his lute to Hades. The King’s eyes are wide as he observes how the world changes with the song. The bard glances behind him as he hears a door squeak open. The Fury meant to be guarding the door was in tears, and Geralt had opened the door on his own. The Witcher watched Jaskier, a small smile on his face. He turns back to Hades and slows the song. Jaskier knows that he only has one chance to get this right, but all he can do is sing from his heart. He just hopes that it’s enough.

“Where is the treasure inside your chest? Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth? Where is the man with his hat in his hands? Who stands in the garden with nothing to lose, singing…”

_“La la la la la la la…”_

“La la la la la la la…” Hades sings back to him. 

_“La la la la la la la…”_

“La la la la la la la…” they sing in unison. Hades stared at him as if he could see into the depths of Jaskier’s soul. He probably could, and all he’d see would be the love he has for his wife mirrored in the love Jaskier had for his Witcher. 

Jaskier let the melody die as he lowered his hands. He’s shaking and he knows it. He doesn’t know if it’s from the magic or the fear, and he figures it’s probably both. Geralt rushes towards him as he stumbles back. He’s caught before his knees can buckle out from under him, and Jaskier looks up at Geralt. 

Persephone looks at her husband, tears falling from her eyes. Hades keeps his eyes turned forward, knowing what would happen if he looked to her.

“Hades, my husband.”

He doesn’t turn.

“Hades, my light.”

He clenches his jaw.

“Hades, my darkness. Look at him...all of his sorrow won’t fit in his chest. It just burns like a fire in the pit of his chest; and, his heart is a bird on a spit in his chest. How long?”

“The kingdom will fall for a song,” he replies, trying to steel himself.

“What does he care for the logic of kings? The laws of your Underworld? It’s only for love that he sings. You’d sing too, for the love of a girl…”

Hades looks to his wife, and cracks. He takes her face in his hands and kisses her briefly, “I’ll talk to the Fates.”

“Thank you my love,” Persephone says, kissing him once more. Hades stands from his throne and looks down to Jaskier.

“You impress me Julian,” he says shortly, “I’ll speak to the Fates. I won’t promise anything.”

Jaskier’s face lights up, “Thank you, your Highness.”

“It’s the one and only favor you will ever receive from me, and it’s only because my wife liked your song,” Hades says sharply before walking past them. Jaskier doesn’t take it to heart. Instead he wraps his arms around Geralt and holds him tight.

“I told you I’d sing us home,” he mumbled into the other man’s shirt.

“We’re not home yet.”

\---

King Hades stood between three very pissed off women. The Fates didn’t appreciate critique on their work. Nor did they appreciate being told to tie strings back together.

“Look,” Hades said sternly, “If I tell him no, I’ll be a heartless man. I’ll have a martyr on my hands.”

Clotho narrowed her eyes, “If you let him go you’re a spineless King.”

“And you’ll never get them in line again,” Atropos added. 

“Damned if I don’t, damned if I do,” Hades pinched the bridge of his nose, “Queen Persephone wants them to leave together, and I’m not capable of denying her. So, it’s going to happen. If done quietly enough, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Name your price to fix the string and it will be paid.”

The Fates looked to one another.

“May we ask you to step out for one moment so we can discuss?” Clotho demanded more than asked. Hades sighed and nodded, rubbing his temples as he did as he was asked. The Fates spent fifteen minutes chittering back and forth on the price to pay for leaving the Underworld. The two talking the most were Clotho and Atropos. Lachesis stood between them, thinking. Finally she spoke up.

“Both of you are overthinking this. Men are fools. Men are frail. Give them the rope and they’ll hang themselves,” she said softly. The other two paused, then the three began to smile. 

“King Hades, you can come back in now,” Atropos called. The door opened and Hades felt on edge as he saw The Fates smiling.

“They can leave, but at a price,” Clotho started.

“They can’t leave arm in arm, side by side,” Lachesis continued.

“To leave, the bard must walk in front and the Witcher must walk behind,” Atropos finished.

“Orpheus and Eurydice did that once before. For all his optimism, it failed,” Hades said carefully.

“If it’s destiny, it won’t,” the three said in unison. 

“Alright.”

\---

Jaskier feels his shoulders fall as Hades explains the rules. They can leave, but Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see Geralt until they were back in the Overworld. He hated the idea. The last time he let Geralt out of his sight, they ended up here.

“I’ll be back shortly, I need to inform Charon of the situation,” Hades explained.

“I’ll go with you,” Persephone said, taking her husband’s arm. The two left, leaving only Geralt and Jaskier together in the throne room.

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, the words coming out in a rush.

“For what?” Jaskier asked, his face twisting with worry.

“For dragging you down here. For dragging you into the mess I’ve made.”

Jaskier reached up to hold Geralt’s face in his hands, “Geralt. I came here because I couldn’t stand living in a world without you. When I found you, I had never felt more grief in my entire life. You didn’t drag me here Geralt, losing you did.”

“I’m not worth losing your life Jaskier.”

“You are worth saving,” Jaskier said firmly, “Geralt I love you. There’s nothing in that stubborn head of yours that can convince me otherwise. I don’t care how many times I’ll have to say it. I love you.”

“Persephone told me that you did,” Geralt murmured, “She said no one in their right mind would come down here if it weren’t for love.”

“Why didn’t you believe her? Why don’t you believe me?” Jaskier asked.

“Witchers…”

“I suppose that would explain it,” Jaskier lets out a short laugh, then becomes more serious, “Do you want to come back?”

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks.

“Do you want to be alive again? You’re free from being a Witcher here. You could live in a hero’s paradise. Above, you can’t. You’ll be back on the path…”

“And forget you?” Geralt says defiantly, “The price for Elysium is forgetting you. Jaskier, I’d live a thousand more Witcher lifetimes if it meant I got to keep you in my life while you walked The Continent. I would never choose to leave you.”

Jaskier lowers his hands and drops to one knee. Geralt looks down at him, confused. Jaskier smiles and takes Geralt’s hand, “I have no ring for your finger. I have no banquet table laid. I have no bed of feathers. Whatever promises I made. Can’t promise you a fair sky above, can’t promise you a kind road below; but, I’ll walk with you, my love.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. He fought back a smile as he looked down to their hands, “I don’t need gold, don’t need silver. Just bread when I’m hungry, fire when I’m cold. Don’t need a ring for my finger, just a steady hand to hold. Don’t promise me fair sky above, don’t promise me kind road below. Just walk with me my love, any way the wind blows.”

Jaskier rises to his feet but keeps his hand in Geralts, “I don’t know where this road will end, but I’ll walk with you into the wind. Do you let me walk with you?”

“I do,” Geralt said, a small smile appearing, “And keep on walking, come what will?”

“I will,” Jaskier promised. He pushed himself up on his tip toes and pulled Geralt into a short kiss. 

“I’ll get us home,” the bard says as they pull away.

“I trust you,” Geralt whispers. 

\---

“It’s time,” Persephone tells the couple once she returns. Jaskier looks to Geralt and takes his hand. The door in front of them opens straight to the ferry on River Styx. Jaskier looks to Geralt, his Witcher just squeezes his hand and the two start walking. Both can feel the thousands of eyes on them, Jaskier itches but Geralt lets it roll off. 

“You think they’ll make it?” Persephone asks her husband.

“I don’t know.”

“Hades, you let them go.”

“I let them try,” Hades says simply.

“Apollo’s boys aren’t known for their luck in love.”

“No. They aren’t.”

Geralt stands behind Jaskier on the ferry as they float across the river. He doesn’t know when the rules start to go into effect, but he doesn’t want to take any chances either. 

“Still back there?” Jaskier asks.

“Yep,” Geralt replies. He can see his bard’s shoulders relax as he hears Geralt’s voice, “Until the end Julian.”

“Who said you could use my real name? I swear, you kiss a man once and he goes around giving away your secrets,” Jaskier jokes.

“You let Hades use your real name.”

“Yeah well, I’m not about to get huffy with the man who runs the Underworld. I enjoy life very much, thank you.”

“How about Songbird instead?”

“Ooo I like that. I’ll put it up there with Dandelion,” Jaskier grins.

“Dandelion?”

“Don’t question it. I went through a lot of names before settling on Jaskier.”

“I like it…”

The two step on the bank as the ferry reaches the other side. The ferryman looks like he’s ready to throw himself into the Styx by the time they actually get there, already having enough of the two. Jaskier goes quiet as he looks up at the road that leads out of the Underworld.

“Geralt? Still back there?” he asks.

“I told you before, Songbird. I’m here until the very end.”

“By very end do you mean until the very end of the road and then you’ll run back down here or do you mean until the end of our lives? You’ve really got to work on your clarification Geralt, a man could get confu-”

“Go,” Geralt groans, pushing Jaskier from behind towards the road. Jaskier lets out a laugh before doing as he’s told and walks.

\---

Just like the walk down, the road is cold and dark. This road smells strange though, like vinegar. Jaskier curls his nose up at it but keeps walking. For a while he can hear Geralt’s footsteps and his breathing.

“Still there?” he asked multiple times within the first five minutes. Each time Geralt confirmed he was there, his voice got fainter. Then, Jaskier couldn’t hear his voice at all. His stomach drops at the silence. It’s as if Geralt isn’t there at all.

But Geralt is there, and he had been talking for quite a while. Jaskier would be impressed if he heard him. Geralt clued in on the fact Jaskier couldn’t hear him after he had started listing potion ingredients. Normally Jaskier would stop and ask questions about them. He hadn’t even hummed in acknowledgment. 

Doubt starts seeping into Jaskier at the ten minute mark. He tugs at the lute on his back and pulls it to his chest.

“La la la la la la la…” he sings. Nothing changes. He feels his palms sweat with the lack of response from anything, “La la la la la la la…” Nothing. He tightens his grip around the wood in his arms, “Who am I? Where do I think I’m going?”

Geralt tenses as he hears the words from Jaskier.

“Who am I? Why am I all alone? Who do I think I am? Who am I to think he would follow me back into the cold and dark again?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt calls out, “Are you listening? I’m right here and I will be until the end.”

“La la la la la la la,” Jaskier sings desperately, “La la la la la la la. Who am I? Who am I against him? Who am I? Why would he let me win? Why would he let Geralt go? Who am I to think he wouldn’t deceive me, just to make me leave him alone?”

The walls seemed tighter than before. They were closing in on him and the dark was never this deep before. Panic strikes him. Hades could have easily led him to his own death. Maybe he was actually traveling to Tartarus, his punishment for trying to sneak into the Underworld and bring Geralt home. Not only would he be dead, he wouldn’t even get to see Geralt in the afterlife. Tears fell from his eyes as his panic deepened.

“Is this a trap that’s being laid for me?” he yells into the dark. He doesn’t see it, but Geralt does. There’s light up ahead. Geralt can almost make out the outline of the clouds. They’re a bright white and fluffy. As they get closer he can even make out the tops of a few trees, but Jaskier can’t seem to see a thing. 

“I used to see the way the world could be, but now the way it is is all I see and, where is he? Where is he now?” Jaskier cries. He pushes his feet forward. When would this end? He was growing so tired. 

“Jaskier. You are not alone. I’m right behind you, and I have been all along. The end is just up ahead. Can't you see it it's right-”


	6. Let's Sing it Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I wanted to put this at the end of the last chapter, but that would've been too much of an emotional roller coaster for one part. So that's why this chapter is super short, but I also really like how it's super short?? I don't know. The epilogue is going up right after this so if you want to consider these last two bits to be connected, go ahead lol.

Jaskier felt numb and cold. Darkness surrounded him as he stood still. 

“You’re early,” he hears Geralt’s voice say. 

“I missed you,” Jaskier breaks into a sob, “I’m sorry Geralt. I’m so sorry-”

He feels two strong hands grab his shoulders and turn him around, “Julian. Take five steps forward.”

Jaskier shakes but does as he’s told. Was that Geralt’s voice? He thinks it’s Geralt’s voice. No, it’s not. He’s never heard Geralt sound like that before. So full of fear, “Please, I’m so sorry. Let me try again, I can’t just leave him there.” He feels his feet sink through snow, and his heart hits the ground. He can hear birds chirping, and a breeze blowing. He was so close…

“Julian,” it’s Geralt’s voice. Jaskier hates how the Underworld was still playing this game with him. He hears Geralt huff, “Julian open your eyes.”

Jaskier’s eyes slowly blink open to a winter wonderland. The sun shone down the glittering snow and Jaskier had to squint to give his eyes time to adjust. He looks around and almost has a heart attack as his eyes land on Geralt. He recovers quickly though, and throws himself at the Witcher, “I- oh my gods- Geralt! What- How? I turned around…”

“You had your eyes closed,” Geralt smiled a little, “I won’t lie, it scared me too. But your eyes were shut when you turned around. I didn’t feel anything try and pull me back, so I just...turned you around and pushed you forward.”

Jaskier lets out a laugh. It’s a mixture of slight amusement and a flood of relief. Geralt finds himself joining his bard, and the two stand there and laugh until their sides hurt. Jaskier finally straightens himself up and looks at Geralt. There he was, flesh and blood and  _ alive _ . 

“How was my performance?” Jaskier asked.

“You were amazing, lark,” Geralt said, “I can’t wait for the next one.”

“Wanna know what the next one will be?” 

“Hm?”

“ _ A love song _ ,” Jaskier sings loudly. Magic fills the air around them, and the snow under their feet melts as flowers bloom in a little ring around them. Geralt watches him, fascinated. Then he pulled Jaskier into a kiss. The bard smiled into it, even as the flowers at their feet died with the song. 

“I love you,” Geralt murmured, “Come with me to Kaer Morhen?”

Jaskier looked up at him, his eyes wide, “Are you sure?”

Geralt nodded, “I was going to ask you once I got back from the hunt.”

“I would be honored,” Jaskier grinned and pulled his Witcher down into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had ya in the first part didn't I? Haha gotcha <3\. Thank god they're himbos huh? Stay tuned for the epilogue.


	7. Goodnight: The Epilogue

_A woman sits in a shitty tavern in Posada. She’s wearing a bright green summer dress and has flowers tucked into her curly hair. She holds a cup of wine in her hand and sits on a table as a bard plays a slow melody._

_“Pour the wine and raise a cup. Drink up, brothers, you know how,” she sings into the crowd. The other patrons gather close as her song draws them in, “And spill a drop for Jaskier, wherever he is now…”_

Jaskier strums his lute by the fire. The air is crisp as it holds on to what was left of winter. He feels something being draped around his shoulders. It’s warm and he pauses his playing to look back. He smiles.

“Good morning,” Geralt murmurs, his voice still a little rough from sleep.

“Good morning my love,” Jaskier says softly. 

Geralt sits by his side and looks out at the wide view in front of them. They’re sitting on a balcony, tucked safely away at Kaer Morhen. Geralt can see some of the wildflowers beginning to come to bloom, and the ice finally breaking free in the creeks below, “Spring is almost here.”

“Yes. We’ll have to get going soon won’t we?”

The Witcher nodded. He glanced away from the view to Jaskier. The man had aged some since they first met. His face had filled out more along with the rest of his body. There were light lines around his eyes and mouth, remnants of years of laughter, singing, and smiles. A touch of grey has graced his hair ever since their journey from the Underworld. Geralt wasn’t sure how fast human’s aged, but he could tell Jaskier was strange. He was almost eighty years old, and had barely changed. They’d known each other for fifty of those eighty years. Although Geralt was a tad concerned, he was overwhelmingly grateful as everyday showed that maybe, just maybe Jaskier would live just as long as him.

“What’s the song for today?” Geralt asks, catching himself staring. 

Jaskier looks to his lute for a moment. His cheeks flush a little but his grin doesn’t falter, “An old song. A tale of love from long ago.”

Geralt rolls his eyes a little, but there’s no malice behind it. Only amusement. He looks out at the view in front of them, “That’s pretty vague Songbird.”

Jaskier huffs and starts strumming, “Well maybe this will help you remember. La la la-”

“La la la la la la la,” Geralt chimed in. He kept his voice low as he sang. 

“You do remember,” Jaskier chuckled.

“Of course. It’s hard to forget a song that makes you feel alive.”

_“Some birds sing, when the sun shines bright. Our praise is not for them, but the ones who sing, in the dead of night. We raise our cups to them,” the woman sang, “Wherever he is wandering, alone upon the earth. Let all our singing follow him...and bring him comfort.”_

Jaskier walked behind Roach and watched as the two most important people in his life walked in front of him. One was his husband. The second was his daughter. A new edition, and definitely a surprise, but welcomed nonetheless. Her name was Ciri, Geralt’s child surprise and the light of their lives. She was a fiery, joyful girl, and a little too mischievous for Geralt to keep up with. 

She sat on Roach as Geralt walked by her side. She could ride a horse just fine, but Geralt liked to be there to catch her if she fell. Jaskier found that he had taken to fatherhood rather easily. 

He had been so scared when Ciri fell into their care. 

“What if I fuck up?” he had asked Jaskier the second night after Ciri became a part of their life. The bard had rolled over in their bedroll and let out a tired huff.

“Then you apologize and do better,” Jaskier explained, “Children don’t need perfection. They need love and care. She knows you’ll fuck up sometimes, it’s how you react to it that shows her who you are.”

Geralt pulled him closer, glancing over Jaskier’s hair to watch Ciri as she slept. 

“She’ll be okay, my love. Go back to sleep.”

Since that night, Geralt seemed to breathe a bit easier. Jaskier plucked at the strings of his lute as he watched them. Ciri had a crown of dandelions placed delicately on top of her head and her hair pulled into braids. She looked like a princess if Jaskier had ever seen one. 

The sun was setting, setting the sky ablaze with pinks and oranges. In the center of it, the setting sun, his Witcher, and his daughter. It was the most beautiful thing Jaskier had ever seen. He thought of writing a song about it.

_“Some flowers bloom, where the green grass grows. Our praise is not for them, but the ones who bloom in the bitter snow. We raise our cups to them.”_

_“We raise our cups, and drink them up,” the tavern crowd sang back to the woman. She smiled at them. The tavern began to become a bit brighter, a bit warmer._

_“We raise ‘em high, and drink them dry,” she sang, waving her hands to call upon the tavern to sing with her._

_“To Jaskier, and all of us.”_

_And dear reader, if you had been there, you would’ve felt the love pouring from the woman as she sang. The whole tavern could feel it as her dark eyes looked to them all. Dear reader, if you had been there, her eyes would have landed on you and you would’ve felt your soul warm as she sang her final notes._

_“Goodnight, brothers, goodnight.”_

_Goodnight, readers, goodnight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This all started out as a teeny tiny concept and it just snowballed from there. I had so much fun writing this and on one final note I will repeat this simple quote: #HimboRights


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